


set sail from sense

by spookyfoot



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Fake Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Identity Reveal, M/M, Musician Victor Nikiforov, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity, Social Media, it's fake-dating-ception, like a delicious seven layer dip of fake relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-02 03:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10935720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: Though he’s rarely seen them framed by the chunky blue glasses he knows Yuuri wears, Victor would recognize those eyes anywhere. His hand instinctively flies to his pocket and palms his phone where his@viknikTwitter account is still open. Thank god his phone has a passcode.(It's Yuuri’s birthday).“Katsuki,” Yakov nods, one word conveying enough impatience to render the rest of the sentence necessary.“Our marketing department’s noticed the popularity of two—" Yakov looks down at the paper in front off him and frowns, mouth faltering around the unfamiliar words, “role-play accounts on The Twitter for the both of you. They’ve advised me that we should,” he looks at the paper again, “ quote ‘catch that social media lighting in in a bottle,’”.On The Official Yakov Feltsman Scale of Exasperation it’s a solid 7.5._______________________Dancer/Choreographer Katsuki Yuuri and Singer/Songwriter Victor Nikiforov are finally Twitter official. The catch? It's for the "fake" role-play accounts they use to escape the pressure of their official images — and neither of them know that the "fake" celebrity they're talking to is actually the real deal.





	1. circles running round come back for more

**Author's Note:**

> written for [YOI Fic Fridays](http://yoificfridays.tumblr.com)
> 
> I'm here on [tumblr](http://katsukiyuuristrophyhusband.tumblr.com)
> 
> title from "Golden Skans" by Klaxons
> 
> NOTE: victor and yuuri use twitterific, a 3rd party twitter app which allows you to be logged into multiple accounts at once.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phichit forces the issue. 
> 
> (chapter title from "All You're Waiting For" by Classix ft. Nancy Whang)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot and then I started writing it and was like NOPE. Multi-chapter it is!

Yuuri didn’t know when it started.

(That was a lie the size of the Pacific Ocean. It had started at the tender age of twelve, at the moment— eyes fixed on a dingy, dusty screen in the back room of his parents inn— Yuuri had glimpsed Victor Nikiforov; his long hair silver hair fluttered in a manufactured breeze from god knows how many fans, as he danced in a music video Yuuri grudgingly admitted had _not_ aged well. Who wore red pleather anymore?)

He glances left and right over his shoulder and opens Twitter, triple checking that he’s signed out of his official **@katsuki-yuuri** account, and into his not-as-secret-as-he’d-like, Katsuki Yuuri role-play account. It had started as a way to practice being a more confident version of himself, but the whole charade grew legs and ran away from him once he’d started RPing with an account for _Victor Nikiforov_ .

He’ll never have the real Victor, but at least he has this.

Yuuri cracks his knuckles and—

“Back at it again Yuuri?”

Yuuri shoots out of his seat, before landing back in the chair with an audible thump.

“God,” Yuuri turns, “are you absolutely sure you’re not secretly a ninja?”

“Nope” Phichit chimes, popping the ‘p’, “just your humble social media manager for an international talent and production company. Nothing big. Besides if I _were_ a ninja it's not like I could tell you; rule number one: what happens in Ninja Club, stays in Ninja Club.”

“You had me until you called yourself humble. I’ve caught you practicing accepting a Golden Aria for best social media campaign almost as many times as I’ve walked in on you masturbating."

“Yuuri, if you violate the golden rule of Things We Do Not Speak Of again, I’ll have to open the blackmail folder on my phone. You do _not_ want me to do that.”

Yuuri sighs, “Why are we friends?”

“Because as much as I give you shit, I’ve never told anyone about your little RP secret.”

Yuuri can't argue with that.

_________________________________

**@viknik** : thanks to all of my fans for coming out to my show tonight! you’re the ones who make it all worthwhile

**@katsudon-yuuri @viknik** : Save me a VIP seat next time, won’t you? :-*

**@viknik @katsudon-yuuri** : only if you promise to choreograph my next music video

**@katsudon-yuuri @viknik** : dinner afterwards at Maestro’s and you’ve got yourself a deal

**@viknik @katsudon-yuuri** : with negotiating skills like that, how could I say no?

**@hipsdontlie @v-nikiforov @katsuki-yuuri** have u guys seen **@viknik** and **@katsudon-yuur** i? may b they’re on 2 sth ;)

**@phichit-chu** RT forever **@hipsdontlie @v-nikiforov @katsuki-yuuri** have u guys seen **@viknik** and **@katsudon-yuuri**? may b they’re on 2 sth ;)

_________________________________

“Phichit!”

“Payback for earlier. Be grateful I didn’t take it further.” Phichit doesn't even bother to look up, just continues tapping on his phone screen, entirely un-phased.

“You are the worst friend.”

“False.”

“Evidence?”

“You’ll see. If I don’t deliver by four pm tomorrow, I’ll let you delete five pictures from the blackmail folder.”

“I swear," Yuuri sighs, "all you're missing is an evil laugh. And I’m deleting five from the Unspeakable Mechanical Bull Incident.”

“I’ll run some evil laugh options by you tomorrow. I’ve been practicing. I'm pretty partial to options three and five at the moment.”

_________________________________

“Vitya stop fidgeting,” Yakov snaps, not even bothering to look up from the pile of papers on his desk.

Victor isn’t sure what exactly Yakov needed all those papers for —everything was in the Cloud now, right?— but the pile was the biggest mystery in Yakov’s office. It never grew, never shrunk, but it was always, _always_ there.

“I didn’t know they offered an extra set of eyes as part of SVT’s health insurance package,” Victor chirps, “I’ll have to see if my benefits cover it.”

“Don’t pretend you read the information packet.”

Victor’s jaw snaps shut. While he's a verifiable genius with music, art, language, and literature, his knowledge is highly specialized— he’s spent most of his life paying others to take care of the practicalities. He can afford it.

“I thought you told me to be careful how I delegate my time,” Victor examines his fingernails with faux-detachment.

“I meant in your professional responsibilities. How many concept albums have you discarded halfway through in the past two years?”

Victor pretends not to hear him, “when's our mystery guest getting here?”

“He should have been here ten minutes ago,” Yakov grunts, casting a disgruntled look at the door.

“It’s nice seeing that look directed at someone other than me.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“You mean until Yura has his next meeting?”

The door bursts open, slamming against the wall and rattling a hideous and entirely impractical bookcase. Victor had bought the thing for Yakov as a gift for his 8th 60th birthday two years ago— and then pestered him into keeping it in his office. Four books flop to the floor, spines bent, pages splayed.

“I’m so sorry,” the man gasps, panting at the floor before peering up at Victor through a mop of dark hair. Though he’s rarely seen them framed by the chunky blue glasses he knows Yuuri wears, Victor would recognize those eyes anywhere. His hand instinctively flies to his pocket and palms his phone where his **@viknik**  Twitter account is still open. Thank god his phone has a passcode.

 

(It's Yuuri’s birthday).

 

“Katsuki,” Yakov nods, one word conveying enough impatience to render the rest of the sentence necessary.

“Our marketing department’s noticed the popularity of two—" Yakov looks down at the paper in front off him, and frowns, mouth faltering a bit around the unfamiliar words, “role-play accounts on The Twitter for the both of you. They’ve advised me that we should,” he looks at the paper again, “ quote ‘catch that social media lighting in in a bottle,’”.

On The Official Yakov Feltsman Scale of Exasperation it’s a solid 7.5.

 

(Victor knows this with utter certainty. After all he created the scale, hit every number on it — and then had magnets made to distribute at SVR’s annual holiday party.)

 

Yakov turns to Victor, “we’re filming 'Stay Close to Me' in a week. Have your ideas ready then.” And then he turns back to the pile of papers on his desk.

While Victor’s had years acclimating himself to Yakov’s default state of terse affection, Yuuri isn’t so lucky. He blanches, turns to Victor with eyes that plead, “what the hell, please help. And also maybe take me on a date.”

(The last bit might be wishful thinking on Victor’s part but he’s always cultivated a facade of incessant optimism).

Yuuri abruptly realizes  who he’s made eye contact with and determinedly shifts his gaze to the grown, the most delicious flush burning on the apples of his cheeks, and spilling down his throat. Victor aches to taste it.

Instead, he pops up from his chair, hooks his arm through Yuuri’s and steers them out of the room with a cheery, “see you, Yakov!”

Victor’s disappointed to note the flush has disappeared before he could chase it across Yuuri’s skin. 

(He desperately wants to pick up where they left off at Chris' Birthday party. But Yuuri's completely different today.) 

“Yuuri, is it alright if I call you Yuuri?” Victor barrels forward without waiting for an answer, “you can call me Victor!”

“Um. Okay. So, Victor—“

“There’s a coffee shop just around the corner, let’s get coffee, or tea— you like genmaicha right? And we can talk about the video!”

_________________________________

Yuuri wraps his hands around the warm mug of tea, finger tips beating a nervous rhythm against the porcelain. He’s tapping out S.O.S. in Morse Code.

“So Yuuuuuuuuuuri,” his name is syrup-slow off of Victor’s lips, the thick, viscous drip of honey— and just as sweet.

(He can do this. He’s making a comeback. Victor's just another part of that, even though his mind is screaming at him that this is _Victor Nikiforov_ sitting across the table from him).

The coffee shop, Spill the Beans, is all gunmetal and sleek lines. Nothing on the menu is less than eight dollars. A sprinkle of gold flakes surfs the foam on top of Victor’s latte. Yuuri’s always treated anything other than the slightly soapy brackish bean-water from his leaky Mr. Coffee drip machine as an indulgence.

“Mmmm,” noncommittal sounds feel safer than words. He’ll have to say something with multiple syllables soon.

(That’s never stopped him from delaying the inevitable.)

“Let’s talk about the video,” Victor purrs, all gleaming teeth and probing eyes, “you’ve heard the song, yes?”

“Ah no,” Yuuri squeaks. He clears his throat before continuing, “Phichit— from PR— he, uh, he wouldn’t tell me who I was meeting with.” His eyes dart back to his tea. It feels safer.

Victor reaches across the table, his warm hands sliding a little against the surface of Yuuri’s damp palms. He seems unfazed.

“Let’s build some trust in our relationship,” he reaches out his other hand, placing a finger under Yuuri’s chin and tipping his head up so Yuuri is forced to meet his eyes.

Yuuri’s phone chimes in his pocket, he glances at the screen. It’s Mari.

“I uh, I have to take this. It’s my sister.” Maybe this will give him time to pull himself together.

_________________________________

  
Victor frowns at Yuuri’s back as he walks out the door.

(Though he can admit the literal rear view is extremely enjoyable.)

Yuuri's shy and reticent —  an utter contradiction to his media persona. Where’s the man who gave Victor a lap dance at Chris’ birthday?

Victor might have to re-calculate his strategy.

His phone buzzes in his pocket; a Twitter notification from his **@viknik** account. He grins, though it quickly sours when he sees the @ is from **@katsukifan1**. That asshole.

**@kasukifan1 @viknik** : give it up. yuuri wld nvr b into a loser like nikiforov

Victor begins angrily thumbing a response that involves far more emojis than words when the door to the cafe swings open again and Yuuri stumbles back in —face ashen, hands shaking.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” he chokes out. He sounds like he’s holding back tears. Victor itches to wrap an arm around his quivering shoulders and rub circles into the soft swell of his hips. But going by the past twenty minutes, he doesn’t think it would be welcomed.

(He hopes he’s wrong.)

“Is everything alright?” Victor’s fighting to keep himself anchored in his chair.

“My dog, he— he got hit by a car,” Yuuri’s tone is flat, his knuckles white where they grip his phone.

Shit. Victor springs up from his seat and follows his earlier urge to wrap his arms around Yuuri without a thought. If Makkachin— no he can’t even finish the sentence in his head.

“I’m so sorry Yuuri,” he murmurs, chin resting on Yuuri’s hair. It smells like sandalwood. “Is he—“

“We don’t know yet,” Yuuri gasps. The front of Victor’s shirt is suspiciously damp. He could care less.

“Do you live close? I can take you home.”

Yuuri just nods, smearing more tears and a significant amount of snot on the front of Victor’s shirt.

“Please.”

_________________________________

 

The drive back to Yuuri’s apartment is quiet other than Yuuri’s soft snuffles and the muted classical music Victor put on at Yuuri’s request because “the silence was too loud.”

Yuuri hears Mari’s panicked “it’s Vicchan,” looped in his head. Like the a grenade with the pin removed, Yuuri feesl liable to explode at any second.  And not for the first — or even the fiftieth time— he wishes his brain had a mute button. Victor has one hand on the steering wheel, while the other lays palm up near the emergency brake, in case Yuuri needs someone to hold onto.Yuuri takes his hand, palm damp and clammy with sweat.

Victor walks Yuuri up to his apartment where Yuuri wordlessly hands him a clean shirt, and plays tug-of-war with himself over whether to accept another hug. “No” wins. Victor gets Yuuri's number "so I can check on you," and then casts no less than eight backward glances as he drags his feet to the door before finally leaving. 

Yuuri eventually peels himself off of the sofa and deposits himself into his own bed, staring at the hideous white popcorn ceiling.

He’ll remember to be embarrassed in the morning when the pain isn’t so fresh.

_________________________________

Phichit finds him curled up in a ball on his bed, pillow stained with tears. He'll need a new pillow case if he’s going to continue using it as a handkerchief, but there’s no way he can move from his bed.

“Yuuri?” Phichit strides into the room, heading straight for the bed where he lays down and curls around Yuuri. “Mari called me too.” His voice quivers in a way Phichit’s voice rarely does. The last time Yuuri heard him sound like that was when Arthur, one of Phichit's hamsters, passed away.

Yuuri knows Phichit loves Vicchan too. Knows that Phichit is sad _with_ him, not just for him. And it makes all the difference.

_________________________________

Victor’s been staring at the same two word text on his phone for the past ten minutes.

**Katsuki Yuuri <3** [ _12:36_ ]: he’s fine.

He dimly registers that Chris is talking. Shaking his head, he gets to his feet, as though an aimless caged walk constitutes some act of reclaiming his autonomy.

“You knew Yakov would find out eventually, Vitya,” Chris thumbs through that month’s issue of Rolling Stone, photo-Victor’s face smoldering at him from the cover.

Real life Victor paces the room like Makkachin denied a walk for too long. Chris wonders if Victor will resort to peeing on the carpet. Though he supposes Victor’s obsession with that Yuuri Katsuki RP account is close enough.

Victor manages to pace himself into some amount of “present”.

“Hmm? Know what?” he asks. Why do hotels insist on such hideous carpet patterns? What’s wrong with a nice neutral?

(The intricacies of interior design are far easier to process than your year long crush’s emotional distress.)

Chris rolls his eyes, discarding the magazine on the table. He grabs his phone and opens Twitter. “Oh I don’t know, what could I _possibly_ be talking about? Maybe the fact that _Rolling Stone_ ’s Artist of the Year role-plays _himself_ on Twitter so he can flirt with a fake Katsuki Yuuri?”

“That’s not the only reason,” Victor mumbles. “Besides, Yakov only knows about the account in general, he doesn’t know that it’s _me_.”

(He feels more like himself as “fake” Victor than “official” Victor.)

“God you’re pathetic.” Ah, Victor notes, Yuri’s finally taken off his headphones. What a delightful addition to the conversation.

“I’m not sure I’m open to taking criticism about my life from a teenager with a leopard print obsession.” Victor had gone through a terrible animal print phase in the mid 2000’s. If only you could burn digital photos.

“Fuck off,” Yuri says, and then stomps over to the couch, sprawls next to Chris, and uncaps a Sharpie to start drawing a mustache and devil horns on _Rolling Stone_ Victor’s face.

“Wow Yura!” Victor gaps, covering his mouth with his right hand and looking at Yuri’s alterations with an expression of faux-wonderment, “your drawing skills have really improved! What an accomplished artist! Are you sure music is your calling?”

(Needling Yuri usually makes him feel better.)

“I will end you,” Yuri snarls, tearing through the glossy magazine paper with an especially violent stroke of his Sharpie.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Yuri,” Chris looks as pleased as when someone at _Cosmo_  had asked him to contribute sex tips, “otherwise how will you meet your idol?”

“I’m right here!” Victor gaps. He flashes Chris a wink. He knows where this is going.

(The familiar groove of play-pretend doesn't numb him like it used to.)

“Vitya, Vitya, Vitya. Don’t pretend you haven’t seen the posters. We both know little Yuri’s room is plastered with picture of—"

“Finish that sentence and I’ll make you regret it,” Victor’s pretty sure he can see the steam rising from Yuri’s ears. Oh, Victor notes, he’s snapped the Sharpie in half. There’s black ink all over his fingers.

“Katsuki Yuuri,” Chris finishes, triumphant shit-eating grin stretched across his face.

Yuri exhales a derisive puff of air, though it lacks some of his usual fire, “you can’t prove anything.”

“Au contraire,” Chris waves his phone in the air. He’d probably be better off with a white flag, but concern for his own physical well-being has never stopped Chris before— and it certainly won’t now. “I’ve got _photos_ ,” Chris makes the word sound like he’s magpied a cache of CIA secrets.

Yuri swipes at the phone just as Chris stands up. Victor silently thanks the puberty gods that Yuri hasn’t hit his growth spurt. Yet.

Yuri whips around to face Victor, “control him.”

Victor scoffs, “I didn’t realize you were in a position to ask for favors.”

“Fine,” Yuri breathes. Victor can see the idea dawn when a wicked grin crosses Yuri's face, “If you don’t get me on set for your stupid video with Katsuki, I’ll tell Yakov about your Twitter— the unofficial one.”

Victor’s got _just_ enough self preservation to know when he’s beaten, but it’s a close thing.

_________________________________

With Vicchan on the mend, Yuuri finally has time to properly freak out about meeting Victor.

“Phichit this is a disaster!”

“What are you talking about, I’m literally making your dreams come true. You know how I know this? Because I’ve walked in on you sleeping on the couch, moaning Victor’s name in your sleep, at least ten times. And that is a very generous estimate in your favor," Phichit affects an expression of mock contemplation, "I could probably make a graph, that’s how much data I have.”

“Yes, because every dream I’ve ever had about Victor Nikiforov involves me going up to him and saying ‘hi, you’ve got a starring role in my wet dreams, I cried on your shirt the first time we met, oh and also I role-play with a fake you on Twitter’.”

“I mean, it would be memorable?” Phichit shrugs. Yuuri’s annoyed at how blasé he seems.

“And how long before he handed my agent a restraining order?”

“At least until after the music video is done!”

Yuuri closes his eyes.

“Yuuri what are you doing?”

“They say if you go to sleep in a dream, you’ll wake up.”

“That might work, if this were actually a dream.”

“Just let me have this, Phichit,” Yuuri groans.

“Okay, there’s a purple unicorn in a tutu doing the samba in the middle of our living room. This is definitely a dream. You’re not going to wake up tomorrow and head to a video shoot with a fake dream version of Victor Nikiforov who definitely did not have your snot on his shirt.”

“Is this your idea of helping?”

“Sort of. Is it working?”

“Like a calculator without batteries.”

“Oh grea— hey. Not cool.”

“I mean, springing _Victor Nikiforov_ on me with no preparation was not very cool either, but you know, tomato, tomatoh.”

“You’re making me wish I’d never signed us up for that class on idioms.”

Yuuri snorts, "if you hadn't you'd still be insisting that the way to a man's heart is through his elbows."

_________________________________

**@viknik** shooting with **@katsudon-yuuri** ’s starting in a few days, maybe it’s time to make it twitter offical

**@musicismy @v-nikiforov @katsuki-yuuri** is it TRUE r u 2 making a vid **@viknik @katsudon-yuur** i said u r

**@v-nikiforov @musicismy** who told you ;) yes! just announced on our official pages **@katsuki-yuuri**

**@katsudon-yuuri @viknik** now that we’ve made the announcement official, maybe it’s time to update our twitter bios ;)

 

**@viknik @katsudon-yuuri** oh, you mean like this? 

_[screenshot: ]_  
**_@viknik_ **  
_the “real” victor nikiforov, musician, The Dog Father, and boyfriend to **@katsudon-yuuri**_

 

**@katsudon-yuuri @viknik** <3 <3 finally Twitter official and it feels so good

  _[screenshot:]_  
_@katsudon-yuuri dancer, choreographer, poodle enthusiast, boyfriend of **@viknik**_

 

**@katsukifan1 @katsudon-yuuri @viknik** yuuri ur too good for him

**@katsukifan1 @viknik** hey asshole don’t u think ur victor is a little OOC?

_________________________________

“Yuri did you see, Yuuri and I are dating!” Victor waves his phone in Yuri’s face. Yuri wishes the stupid thing would grow legs and kick Victor in the balls.

“You mean “fake” you is dating fake Yuuri on Twitter— a fake Yuuri that could be some a postal worker in Indiana for all you know.”

"Yuri," Victor pouts, "why can't you let me have one thing?"

"First of all, why would I? Second, because there the _real_ Katsuki Yuuri is right there. So if you're as desperate to date that dipshit as you say you are, then you'll find the balls you locked in a safe when you recorded "Fire on Ice", slap them back on under you dick, and get the fuck over there so you can actually talk to him."

"You've got a real mind for imagery, Yura, you absolutely missed your calling as a visual artist."

"Are you sure you aren't just stalling?"

Victor gasps, "why would I stall? I get to talk to the love of my life!"

"The sounds like something someone who was stalling would say." 

"It's just that he’s even more beautiful in person,” Victor moans, chin resting in the palm of his hand, eyes fixed on Katsuki Yuuri— the same place they’d been for the majority of the last twenty minutes. Not that Yuuri's noticed. God, Yuri wishes he had the same ability to ignore Victor.

"Pfft, you're just too much of a coward to go over there considering he hasn't noticed your creepy ass staring."

"Or," a look of untamed schaudenfreude stretches across Yuri's face, "maybe you're scared he knows you're in a fake twitter relationship with a fake him."

"Lies! Slander!" Victor's face contorts into the overly cheerful grin Yuri knows means he's lying. Victor's scared shitless of Katsuki _fucking_ Yuuri and it's the greatest thing since Instagram.

"Really? Prove it."

Yuri's enjoying this far too much but Victor's got a point to prove.

_________________________________

“Phichit please.”

“Go talk to him!”

“And say what? Sorry I can go from nervous wreck to blubbering mess in less than sixty seconds, does your car accelerate that fast?”

Phichit sighs, ”Yuuri, he hasn't stopped staring at you."

"Stop lying Phichit."

"I'm not lying, why do you always think I'm lying?"

"Let me think," Yuuri takes a deep breath, then: "'Yuuri I won't let you get too drunk', 'Yuuri those jeans look great on you", 'Yuuri, Bronze definitely did not pee on your bed', 'Yuuri this curry isn't that spicy', 'Yuuri you won't embarrass yourself,', 'Yuuri you won't vomit on a rollercoaster if you eat upside down,'...are you just going to let me go on forever?"

"Maybe. It was a pretty impressive list, you've clearly been holding on to these for a long time," Phichit glanced over Yuuri’s shoulder then back to his face, "he's still looking.”

"I thought we just established that you're a liar," Yuuri crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Mmm, no. Those jeans did look great on you. You not believing me is not the same as me lying."

“What happens if I don’t believe you and you’re also lying? Are we stuck in some sort of black hole temporal paradox thing?”

Phichit’s gaze returns to the spot just over Yuuri’s shoulder, “let’s find out,” he says, smiling.

Yuuri knows that smile. He does _not_ like that smile. That smile has only ever lead to nights where he gets blackout drunk, and wakes up the next morning with lipstick smeared across his entire face, a penis drawn in Sharpie on his chest, and half a phonebook scrawled across his torso.

(“Why would someone copy the phonebook onto my body?"

“Oh Yuuri,” Phichit sighs, “we’ve been over this. They want to you to call them. Or text them. I’m sure they’d even go for a carrier pigeon or smoke signal.”

“Funny, Phichit.”

“How are you this oblivious?”

“How are you this _delusional_?” )

“What do you—"

“Victor’s coming over here,” Phichit says, face split open in a grin, all flashing teeth and feral glee.

“You’re just messing—" a hand brushes his shoulder and Yuuri jumps so high that if it had been a grande jete, even his old ballet teacher, the impossibly uncompromising Lilia Baranovskaya, would have deemed it “above average”.

“Hi Yuuri!” Victor’s voice chimes behind him.

He whips around, flush burning on his cheeks, “Victor!” Thank god his voice doesn’t break.

“Wow, what a coincidence seeing you here,” Victor shoots Yuuri a wink and nudges an elbow into his side like they’re sharing an inside joke— even though it’s not much of one.

“Oh uh, yeah. Ha. Ha.” Yuuri’s laugh sounds stiff and hollow, ringing in his ears.

Victor either doesn’t notice, or is determined not to care, “take a picture of us!” he says, and hands his phone to Phichit.

Yuuri realizes Victor’s immediately swayed Phichit to his cause and sighs. Victor throws an arm around him and Yuuri leans into Victor’s side. He smells like amber, sea salt, and sage.

“Say, 'Stay Close to Me’" Victor beams at the camera, pulling Yuuri closer until he's flush against Victor's body. Yuuri mumbles something incomprehensible as Phichit takes the picture.

“Am I good, or am I great?” Phichit says, not even bothering to show them the photo before he uploads it to Victor’s Instagram.

Within seconds, Yuuri’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Victor’s does too.

The exchange a weighted glance— though Yuuri’s not sure what’s pulling at Victor’s side of the equation— and take out their phones.

Yuuri’s home screen is a mess of notifications from people tagging both his Twitter accounts —official Yuuri and "fake" Yuuri.  He bites his bottom lip and glances at Victor.

There’s a soft pink flush licking across the tops of Victor’s cheekbones.

(Why would he be embarrassed? Maybe it’s just warm in here.)

Yuuri clutches his phone. God. How is he going to survive the next two and a half weeks as both Katsuki Yuuris?

 

(Yuuri has no way of knowing it, but Victor’s thinking the exact same thing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you next chapter :D
> 
> (shortest authors note I've ever written???)
> 
> (how many em-dashes can i use in 4.3k words? stay tuned to find out!)


	2. stillness is the move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which fake-fake-dating runs parallel to fake-dating. 
> 
> **Hypothesis** : If you're fake-dating a "fake" someone on twitter, and then start fake-dating that same someone in real life, all while wanting to actually date them, you should probably make sure you're not stuck in an M.C. Escher drawing. 
> 
> (It's fake-dating-ception.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have i ever mentioned how much I love fake dating? because I do. have two levels of fake dating.
> 
> chapter title from, oh would you look at that, "Stillness is the Move" by Dirty Projectors.
> 
> the links actually lead to real things, fyi.

Victor shoots a glance at Yuuri before tapping in his passcode (1129). He cradles the phone to his chest, attempting to block the screen from any prying eyes. Phichit-from-PR flashes him a suspicious look and Victor belatedly realizes he’s broadcasting his guilt before he’s even been accused of a crime.

He holds his left hand against his forehead, forming a makeshift visor, “wow the glare from those lights is terrible!”

Phichit-from-PR glances at his phone screen, then back at Victor and squints, “it’s fine where I’m standing…”

Victor suddenly wishes he could replace his metaphorical shovel with a real one and tunnel the hell out of here.

“Hey asshole, are you gonna introduce me or what?” For the first time in his life Victor's flooded with relief at being called an asshole.

“Yuri!”

Katsuki Yuuri turns to him, his soft murmur layered on top of Yuri Plisetsky’s strident bark. Yuuri and Yuri, oh…that’s going to be confusing.

Yuri Plisetsky seems to reach the same conclusion and yells “dibs on Yuri!” at the same time Phichit (eyes still glued to his phone screen) proclaims, “Yuri P. will be known as Yurio on set. I cleared it with Yakov three days ago.”

“What the fu—“ Victor slapped a hand over Yuri—Yurio’s— mouth. Yurio licks it. Victor doesn’t flinch.

(Yurio’s done far worse.)

  
“Since one of you is actually _starring_ in the music video and has his own trailer,” Phichit points at a bungalow at the far edge of the lot, “while the other’s just yelling about it, we decided to prioritize. I'd be happy to think of an even worse nickname though,” Phichit says beaming with anticipatory schadenfreude. He looks at Victor and frowns, “what’s going on with your face?”

“What’s going on with _your_ face?”

(It appears Victor's contracted a case of foot-in-mouth-itus, condition: terminal.)

“My flawless winged eyeliner, that’s what.”

“Phichit?” Yuuri asks, “what’s the rest of the schedule today?”

Victor’s been saved by an angel in track pants and a threadbare grey t-shirt.

“It all depends on the pre-production meeting at 10. And we’re running late. So unless you want me to herd you guys like I’m an actual sheep dog—and I _will_ do it—we’d better get our asses over there.”

__________________________

“Vitya have you even spent time on a treatment for the video?” Yakov’s face has never reached that exact shade of red before. Victor makes a note in the mostly blank moleskin he always carries with him—primarily for the aesthetics. He sense a new Yakov Feltsman Ranking Scale coming on. The Yakov Feltsman Tomato-Meter? The Yakov Feltsman Choler Calibration? Neither are quite right, Victor muses as he taps his pen against his lips. He’ll workshop it. The second shows some promise.

The gentle press of fingers against his shoulder brings him back to the present. Yuuri’s sitting across the narrow conference table face pinched with worry. Yurio sits on his left.

(The little shit stole the seat before Victor had even made it into the room. Victor places one hundred percent of the blame on Yurio’s Heelies. He regrets encouraging Yurio to take that endorsement.)

“Victor?” his name has never sounded so beautiful as it does falling from Katsuki Yuuri’s lips.

Oh right. The treatment. Victor glances around the room, lip curling in distaste. How is he supposed to summon music video magic in a drab bungalow that was hastily converted into a conference room. He flips his notebook back to the front pages filled with the ideas he'd hastily scrawled over the past week.

(When he'd rifled through Victor's notebook, Yurio had cackled and asked Victor if his music was entering an emo phase, “it would be so like you to capitalize on your pain with a trend that was already tired by 2005.”

Victor had complimented Yurio’s knowledge of musical and cultural trends, and then fueled his brainstorming on pettiness and longing—Victor’s favorite motivational cocktail.)

(Though if Victor was entirely honest, he could have done without the longing, and more than ready to move onto _having_. )

Victor focuses in on his untidy scrawl, the barely legible scratches that describe the music video he’d envisioned and described shot for shot. Then he flips back to the blank pages full of possibility (and of uncountable potential days by Yuuri's side).

“Ah, sorry Yakov! Must have slipped my mind, you know how forgetful I am,” he shoots Yakov a wink.

Yakov hits a solid ten on the Soon To Be Named Yakov Feltsman Scale of Rage. Victor congratulates himself on establishing the baseline and pinnacle for his new scale in less than a week. He can see the magnets already.

“Vitya. You had one job. One. Job.”

“I thought singing and songwriting were my jobs. That’s two separate jobs right there!” Victor can’t stop his smile’s slide from smug into shit-eating.

“I don’t pay you for your mouth.”

“I’m not an expert on biology but I’m fairly sure that’s where the pretty sounds that sell lots of records come out of.” Victor can _hear_ Yakov’s teeth grinding from across the room. He sneaks a look across the table. Yuuri’s staring at his hands shoulders shaking with laughter (god Victor hopes it’s laughter and not more tears), while Yurio is looking at Victor with a strange mix of respect and disgust. Which is more respect than Victor’s seen from Yurio since he hit the early stages of puberty, so Victor will sure as hell take it.

“Everybody else, out!” The room erupts into a symphony of screeching chairs. “Katsuki, stay here. I need to speak to you and Vitya alone.”

(Victor didn’t know blood could drain from a person’s face that quickly. Maybe Yuuri deserves his own scale. The Katsuki Yuuri Sliding Scale of Mortification. He makes a note.)

With a soft smile—more a quirk of the lips than anything—Victor waves Yuuri over and pats the seat next to him.

Yuuri funeral marches over to Victor’s side and audibly flops into the seat. He shoots Victor an incredulous look. Victor just pats him on the arm and whispers, “let me deal with Yakov.”

Yuuri’s face screams apprehension. He’s chewing on his lower lip andVictor can’t help but note that it’s chapped. He’s suddenly acutely aware of the tub of lip balm burning a hole in his pocket. Instead, Victor laces their fingers together and fixes Yakov with his best press smile—the one that reaches his eyes just enough to convince most people he’s sincere. Yakov is not most people.

“Vitya. I do not want to extend our production schedule—like I did for the last four videos.”

Victor shifts in his seat. He resents the comparison. Unlike the other videos, he’s not struggling to draw water from a dry well—he just wants to spend more time with Yuuri. If anything, he’s more inspired than ever. He opens his mouth, protest dashing towards the tip of his tongue. But Yakov gets there first.

“You’re starting to get a reputation as… _difficult_. I know you’ve what happens when a musician gets saddled with that label. We have to run damage control.”

“Mr. Feltsman. You can tell the crew it’s my fault. I should have met with Victor this past week but…some personal circumstances got in the way.”

“Very noble,” Yakov almost looks impressed. Then again, Victor’s not sure he’s ever seen Yakov manage a full force facial expression other than rage so this probably counts as the real thing. “Don’t feel obligated to fall on a sword for Vitya though.” Victor’s momentarily distracted by the phallic imagery of swords and belatedly registers Yakov's implicit insult.

“Yakov,” he pouts, “I thought you were supposed to have my best interests at heart!”

Yakov makes a dismissive noise, “how can you know that I don’t when you don’t even know what your best interests are?”

Victor turns towards Yuuri, clasping both his hands, “Yuuri, save me!” He swoons into his best impression of Scarlett O’Hara.

(Victor is entirely sure any and all of his “best interests” begin and end with the man sitting beside him.)

 Yuuri’s face split the difference between horror and amusement—eyes flooded with laughter, mouth twisted into a grimace.

Yakov turned toward Yuuri, ignoring Victor. “For once, that idiot is on to something.”

Victor preens. Coming from Yakov, that’s basically a compliment.

“In the week since we last met, I’ve had PR run four different focus groups. They’ve all come to the same conclusion: there’s decent buzz around the video, but there’s an enormous amount of chatter about the two of you.”

“The…two of us? Like, as—” Yuuri’s lip is bloody.

“Yes, as a couple.” The choir of angels ringing in Victor’s ears is so loud he almost misses the next sentence. “PR’s already set up your first event as a couple— there’s a premier tomorrow for Mila Babicheva’s starring movie role. It’ll be your debut, so to speak. And it should buy us some time. Plus,” he looks directly at Yuuri, “it’s important to raise your profile after a year away. And this’ll do it.”

Victor’s beaming. It’s like his birthday and Christmas have come early.

(Well, his birthday _is_ Christmas, but it’s the cultural metaphor he’s after.)

“Yakov, you’re a genius!” Victor coos. Yakov ignores him.

“Are you alright with this, Katsuki?”

The silence following Yakov’s question lasts approximately as long as the amount of time between the big bang and the appearance of humans on Earth.

(Victor might be exaggerating a hair—but only a hair. He’s got a very accurate internal clock.)

Victor whips his head toward Yuuri. Yuuri’s eyes are darting from Yakov to Victor to Yakov, his expression unreadable.

Finally, Yuuri nods, and Victor remembers how to breathe. Yuuri squeaks out a soft “bathroom” and outright flees.

Yakov fixes Victor with A Look, “Vitya, I’m trusting you to be a gentleman, though god knows why.”

Victor flashes him a salute and a cheeky grin.

“We’re doomed,” Yakov mutters to the ceiling. At this point it’s his only ally.

__________________________

 **@phichit-chu @katsuki-yuuri @v-nikiforov**  lovebirds on set! the most beautiful couple in the world [http://t.co/ky11vn29](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C38RrC_WQAAWeYA.jpg)  _#victuuri #stayclosetome_

 **@katsukifan1 @phichit-chu** lovebirds? nikiforov’s not even human, he’s three kinks in a trench coat _#katsukiyuurifc #victorDICKiforov_

 **@katsudon-yuuri @viknik** damn we look good together **RT @phichit-chu**  lovebirds on set! the most beautiful couple in the world [http://t.co/ky11vn29](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C38RrC_WQAAWeYA.jpg) _#victuuri #stayclosetome_

 **@viknik @katsudon-yuuri** no one’s looked at that photo more than me  <3 <3 <3 _#victuuri_

 **@katsudon-yuuri @viknik** smooth, nikiforov.  <5 (because I more than less than three you ;) ) _#lessthanfive_

 **@vik-nik @katsudon-yuuri** if you think that’s smooth, wait until you see my dance moves  <1129

 **@katsudon-yuuri @viknik** oh, i’ve seen them. in that versace cologne commercial. upwards of 20 times.

 **@viknik @katuson-yuuri** and? what’s the verdict

 **@katsudon-yuuri @viknik** your free leg is sloppy 

__________________________

It’s his first day on set and Yuuri’s already making a list of the best places to cry.

(He’s not sure if this is better or worse than smearing a liter of snot on the front of Victor’s shirt.)

After The Great Escape From Yakov’s Office, Yuuri sought shelter in his trailer. It's location number one on The Best Places to Cry on Set, hands down.

(This whole fiasco must be some sort of nightmare fever dream.)

(Please let it be a nightmare fever dream.)

“Yuuri?”

Oh god. No. Not now. Not while his face is blotchy, his eyes are swollen, and his nose is dripping like the Trevi Fountain.

A pair of strong arms wrap about his shoulders and pull him into a warm and (currently) dry chest. He’s surrounded by the increasingly familiar scent of sea salt, amber and sage. Victor’s chin rests on top of his head.

(Yuuri wants to flee to the other end of the earth.)

(He wants to stay here forever.)

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Victor’s weak chuckle sends a pulse of vibrations and _want_ through Yuuri’s body.

Yuuri’s beyond his emotional and physical limits for the day—no for the month. Exhaustion lays heavy across his shoulders like a tangible weight—Atlas’ burden.

Maybe that’s why, instead of running—or making a polite but noncommittal noise—he says, “you’ve got to stop telling such terrible jokes.”

Victor pulls back. Yuuri immediately misses his warmth.

“Yuuuuuri,” Victor whines, “how could you say such a thing about your new boyfriend?” Relief and—happiness? no not quite, not a brother but a cousin—are splashed across Victor’s face.

“I put one word after another.” Yuuri deadpans. Apparently all it takes to feel comfortable with Victor is to cry out all his emotions until he’s empty of anything other than snark. Who would have guessed.

Victor leans back in and nuzzles against Yuuri’s neck, “my Yuuri is so smart,” he murmurs breath hot against Yuuri’s skin. Even the darkest recesses of Yuuri’s anxiety ridden mind can’t ignore the possessive article in front of his name.

This time, Yuuri’s the one who leans away, “you haven’t set a high bar. I could step over it.”

“Yuuri!” Victor’s pouting but his eyes are sparkling. He takes Yuuri’s hand and leads him to the couch.

(Yuuri sinks into the cushions. He’ll meld with the couch, become one with the cushions, and never have to deal with any of his problems ever again. It’s a solid plan.)

“Are you really okay with this?” Victor asks. He’s rubbing little circles on the back of Yuuri’s knuckles with his thumb. It’s very distracting.

“Yes” Yuuri blurts simultaneously grateful for and mortified by his lack of filter.

“Yuuuuuuuri,” Victor manages to make Yuuri’s name sound like a simultaneous wave of worship and warning.

“Are you sure, sure?” Victor’s tone is artificially light and he pokes Yuuri’s arm. Yuuri meets his eyes and recognizes the veiled worry Victor’s trying to hide from him.

(He’s seen that same expression in the mirror too many times to remain ignorant.)

Yuuri smiles. It’s a peeling poster of a grin, but at least it’s not Photoshopped. “Positive.”

At this point, Yuuri’s cried on Victor twice without scaring him away. It can’t get any worse.

(One day, Yuuri will learn not to issue a challenge to the universe.)

“You’ve already seen me cry. If you can be okay with a me dumping a gallon of tears and snot on your shirt, I can handle a little social media.” Yuuri’s proud of how steady his voice is. He’s more than okay with dating Victor, he’ll just have to remind himself it’s not real.

(He’s also conveniently ignoring the fact that he’s only okay with social media as long as no one actually thinks it’s him.)

“I think you’re overestimating your sinus capacity, it was more like a pint than a gallon.”

“You’re suspiciously well acquainted with the tear and snot saturation to quantity conversion—Phichit calls it the Katsuki Ratio. Care to share how?”

“Hmmm, no, I have to keep some of the mystery alive.” Victor winks and walks over to the small dining room table to grab his phone. “We should make an official announcement though.” He pulls up Twitter, hastily switching from  **@viknik** to **@v-nikiforov** before flopping down on the couch next to Yuuri—so close their shoulders press against one another.

Victor’s thumbs fly over the screen as he taps out the tweet, tilting the screen towards Yuuri every so often to show him what he’s writing.

“Sound good?”

Yuuri nods, twisting his fingers in his lap. The post cry zen’s started to wear off, and he can sense the wave of anxiety cresting behind his eyes.

“And….” Victor thumbs the screen one more time then brandishes his phone with a flourish, “sent!”

Yuuri flashes him a weak smile. His eyes already feel a bit wet, and he’d rather not cry in front of Victor for the second time that day.

(And third time in less than a week.)

“Yakov said we’re postponing the rest of today’s schedule until,” Victor screws up his face and drops his voice into a gruff bark, “‘you idiots figure out what the hell you’re doing,’” Victor’s smiling in a self satisfied way that ratchets up Yuuri’s anxiety, “did you want to just hang out here or…?”

“Um…would you mind going back to your trailer? I just… need some time.”

Yuuri has no clue why Victor looks so amused until—

“This is my trailer, actually.”

Yuuri’s not sure he manages to use real words from any language as he flees.

(Victor’s trailer is now number one on the list of the Worst Places To Cry On Set.)

__________________________

 **@v-nikiforov** someone should ask **@viknik** and **@katsudon-yuuri** for this year’s Grammy winners _#victuuri_

 **@v-nikiforov** but who needs a(nother) grammy when you’re dating the most beautiful man in the world **@katsuki-yuuri** _#victuuri #ivegot3rddegreeburns_

 **@v-nikiforov** slightly related, when you make a hashtag and the end of one word is the same as first letter of the next one, you do use it once or twice _#actuallyou_ or _#actuallyyou_

 **@katsukifan1 @v-nikiforov** pretty sure it’s _#actuallyyou’re_ an idiot

 **@katsuki-yuuri** yes, we’re dating **@v-nikiforov** [http://t.co/ky11vn29](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C2OIioxW8AA_7U8.jpg) _#victuuri_  
_[photo: re-posted selfie of Victor and Yuuri from Phichit’s twitter]_

 **@dancingonmyown @katsuki-yuuri** DEETS PLZ _#victuuri_

 **@yourotpisproblematic @dancingonmyown @katuski-yuuri** ….they’re real people… _#victuuri_

 **@dancingonmyown @yourotpisproblematic** but you still tagged **@katuki-yuuri** so _#glasshouses_

 **@viknik @v-nikiforov** glad you finally followed my example, you have excellent taste ;) _#victuuri_

 **@v-nikiforov @viknik** as do you ;) great minds  _#victuuri_

 **@viknik @v-nikiforov** exactly what I was thinking. but really, you’d have to lack all taste buds not to appreciate such a delicious bowl of katsudon _#victuuri_

 **@y-plistetsky @v-nikforov @viknik** pathetic to disgusting in less than 140 characters. new record for anyone but you. 

__________________________

  
“Chris, he literally ran away from me,” Victor moans. He’s draped across the couch in his trailer—the scene of the crime—left arm thrown across his eyes.

Yurio snorts, “Katsuki’s clearly smarter than I gave him credit for.”

(This is a lie. Yurio's given Yuuri credit for a long time. Victor and Chris are  _well_ aware of how much Yurio worships the other Yuuri. They also know Yurio has a devious mind, way too much money, access to the internet, and contacts at TMZ. Neither of them wants to be the subject of the next iCloud leak. They keep their mouths shut.)

“I’d run away if I had to date you too—fake or not,” Yurio continues, not bothering to tear his eyes away from his phone.

“Chris, help me. You know Yuuri,” Victor—Chris muses—would win gold in Whining Olympics. They wouldn’t even have to bribe the Russian judges.

“How much do any of us really know anyone? Most of us perform ourselves in—"

“Chris I will tweet that picture of you in lederhosen as a child if you try to turn this into a performance philosophy seminar.”

“You’re no fun anymore,” Chris sighs then moves Victor’s legs before sinking down onto the couch next to him.

“I’m double fake dating the love of my life, I need help.”

“You needed help long before Katsuki agreed to this disaster,” Yurio says.

“Might have to side with Yurio on this one, Vitya.”

“Don’t call me that,” Yurio snaps.

“Back to my problems,” Victor interrupts, “how do I get Yuuri to like me?”

“Solve global warming. That’s the level of difficulty you’re aiming for,” Yurio’s face flushes, pleased, before he turns back to his phone to immortalize the insult on Twitter.

“What about a boombox and Peter Gabriel? That seems like a solid plan,” Victor sits up and beams, looking around the room for approval.

(He should know better with this audience.)

“Vitya, no. You can’t _make_ someone like you. Especially not by imitating a movie. If you set up a mirage of yourself to win his affection, you’ll always have to play pretend.”

Victor pouts, then gives up his mock offense and sighs, “I know. I just…this is new for me.”

“Sincerity? No shit. But we both know you’re sick of the public image prison.” Chris pats Victor’s calf.

Victor nods and stares at the tin ceiling of his trailer—re-living the heat of Yuuri’s body pressed against his just an hour before.

__________________________

“You call this helping?”

“Yuuri. The publicity will help you. It’ll give you an excuse to spend time with Victor, and get Yakov on your side. This is a good thing.”

“Try telling that to my tear ducts and my anxiety,” Yuuri moans, face buried in his hands.

Phichit looks over from the stove where he’s de-glazing the pan, “will you do it to help me then?”

Yuuri’s head pops up, “what do you mean?”

“Yakov hinted that I might get a promotion if I help you guys pull this off.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri burst out his seat, chair clattering over as he rushes across the room to envelope Phichit in a hug, “that’s amazing!”

Phichit’s beaming, “thanks. I really want this. You know I’d do anything for you—"

“Except delete the blackmail folder.“ Yuuri grumbles.

Phichit ignores him “—and I’ll be there for whatever you need, okay? You won’t be dealing with this alone. Promise.”

“Okay,” Yuuri sighs. Phichit wraps him in a hug and Yuuri melts into the embrace.

“Besides, think of the blackmail folder as incentive. I promise I’ll finally let you delete five pictures if we pull this off.”

“You always say that.”

“And I always mean it.”

“I believe that _you_ think you mean it.”

Phichit pulls back from their hug, arms still loosely draped around Yuuri’s waist, “you know, I’ve spent more one on one time with him than you have, and Victor’s really not anything like his media image.”

Yuuri snorts, “sure, Jan.”

“I mean it! He’s a huge dork that’s almost as bad with words as you are.”

“Well with a vote of confidence like that..."

Phichit ignores him

“At least he hasn’t seen your posters—yet.”

“Phichit, I swear. If you show him I _will_ burn all of your _The King and the Skater_ DVDs.”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing the blackmail folder is for.”

  
__________________________

 

_**check-the-receipts** _

_katsuki yuuri and victor nikiforov does is dating???_

guys guys guys guys (and girls. and nonbinary pals.)

WE HAVE A CODE VICTUURI.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

*gross sobbing*

i know, we’ve dreamed of this day since **@viknik** and **@katsudon-yuuri** started the thirstiest twitter role-play since those gay figure skaters. you know the ones ;)

(if you don’t (somehow??? (how??)) [ch-ch-ch-check it out](https://i.imgur.com/7drHiqr.gif). ur welcome. now back to our boys)

on this day, april 26th at 2:17 pm, in the year of our lord and savior katsuki yuuri, we were blessed with an official twitter announcement that victuuri. is. canon.

all over the world crops flourished, skin cleared, the stock market stopped being the worst, we all filed our taxes on time, pluto became a planet—again, and nothing could hurt us.

_#victuuri #i aml iving #dorks in love #gays on film #twitter knew first #katsuki yuuri #victor nikiforov #pluto is now a planet #youre welcome science_

**_139,561 notes_ **

__________________________

 **@tmz** Victor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri are officially dating, see the story here [http://tmz.com/nikiforov-katsuki-are-canon](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/a2/63/df/a263df617f4152c7d834426f009a4f54.jpg) _#victuuri_

 **@crookerz @tmz** ur like a year late, they’ve been dating 4 a while _#victuuri_ **@viknik @katuson-yuuri**

 **@plutosdefender @crookerz @tmz** u do know that those accts are fake right???

 **@thegoodsolider @plutosdefender @crookerz @tmz** all media is fake

 **@tmz @thegoodsoldier @plutosdefender @crookerz** maybe leave us out of this….

 **@thegoodsoldier @tmz** is fake _#confirmed_

 **@peoplemag** our top ten _#victuuri_ tweets [http://t.co/819283](http://i.imgur.com/LzuoO4i.jpg)

 **@v-nikiforov** _#luckiestmanalive_ [http://t.co.12251129](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/dc/10/08/dc1008f7a09a2d6f757cc02b4ad343f7.jpg)

_[photo: yuuri asleep on the couch in his apartment]_

**@katsuki-yuuri @v-nikiforov** VICTOR

__________________________

 **katsuki yuuri <3** _[6:28]_ : how did you get that photo?

 **me** _[6:29]_ : phichit

 **katsuki yuuri <3** _[6:29]_ : of course.

 **katsuki yuuri <3** _[6:29]_ : brb

 **me** _[6:35]_ : yuuri?

 **me** _[6:54]_ : yuuuuuuuuuuuri????

 **katsuki yuuri** _[7:03]_ : phichit is surprisingly agile

__________________________

  
The next day, Victor’s hunting around the set for Yuuri. It only takes ten minutes.

Spotted: Katsuki Yuuri’s perfect ass.

Victor would recognize that ass blindfolded and right now he’s got perfect vision. Yuuri’s standing at craft services, laughing with Phichit-from-PR.

(Victor should probably ditch the epithet now that they’re working closely with one another.)

Phichit-fro—Phichit wraps an arm around Yuuri’s waist and pulls him in to his side. Yuuri melts into his embrace, pillowing his head on Phichit’s shoulder and muttering something that makes Phichit burst into a bark of staccato laughter.

(If only he’d been close enough to hear what Yuuri had said.)

They look…close. In his year’s worth of experience in online stalking Katsuki Yuuri, Victor that any and all public information about Yuuri had been meticulously curated. When he’d asked, Yakov had rolled his eyes, “our ability to protect Katsuki’s privacy is the biggest reason he signed with SVT.”

Yakov’s assertion loops through Victor’s brain like a siren as he remembers the way Yuuri fled yesterday; the image hovers over the present scene like a ghostly projection.

Victor has been so excited that fake dating fake Yuuri had upgraded to fake dating real Yuuri (and plotting to remove the “fake” from the equation all together) that he hadn’t considered Yuuri might already be _in_ a relationship.

(Yuuri’s boss and co-worker had put him on the spot yesterday—had they really expected he’d be able to say no?)

For that he’s a public figure, Yuuri’s personal life is practically an encrypted file at the Pentagon. So. Victor wonders.

(He’ll ask Chris later. Chris will know.)

In any case, he needs to talk to Yuuri before tonight’s “date” for Mila’s premier.

(He hates the quotes around date.)

Victor pastes a smile on his face before hustling over.

__________________________

 

Yuuri pokes the tray of mini-quiches, shifting two quiche Lorraine's in his hunt for a spinach cheddar. They crumble into puddles of crust.

“Do I have to arrest you for crimes against innocent food items?”

“Moving a quiche isn’t a crime.”

“It is if it’s murder. Exhibit A,” Phichit says, pointing to the pile of crumbs that used to be a quiche.

“Take it up with craft services.”

“Oh hell no. You remember what happened last time.”

They both shudder at the memory of the salted caramel machiatto that was ninety percent salt. And ninety percent is a generous estimate.

“Fine,” Yuuri rolls his eyes, “you’ll just have to give me an alibi then.”

“I’ve already given you my soul, what more could you want?” Phichit pretends to wipe away a tear from his eye.

“Pretty sure you sold your soul to Instagram, not me.”

“You can’t prove anything.”

“Just watch me.”

“Speaking of watching,” Phichit glances over Yuuri’s shoulder, then back to his face, “your faux-bf is here.”

“Oh god.”

“Relax, he probably just wants quiche dust.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to turn around, “yes, I’ve heard quiche dust is craft service’s greatest delicacy. The Helen of Troy of savory pastries.”

“I mean, I’d vote chocolate mousse but you know, tomato, tomatoh and all that.” Phichit plucks one of the quiches that’s still seventy five percent intact and perches it on his tray.

Yuuri snakes his hand past Phichit to grab a handful of buffalo sauce popcorn, “you’d vote chocolate anything.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“No. The only thing wrong here is Victor being forced to “date” me.”

“Yuuuuri,” Phichit whines, “you’re a catch. And he’s actually a dork. We’ve been over this.”

Phichit’s arm snakes around his waist and pulls him into a side hug. Yuuri slides his head onto Phichit’s shoulder with a sigh, “I know. I know. Maybe one day my brain will believe you.”

“Hi Yuuri!”

__________________________

As soon as his eyes meet Yuuri’s Victor feels his smile shift from forced to real.

“What a crazy coincidence, of all the craft service tables on all the sets in the world, we just happen to meet at mine,” Victor drawls, feeling inordinately pleased with himself.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, “Victor, this is the craft services table.”

Victor frowns, “that’s what I just said?” 

Yuuri’s biting his lip, “The craft services table. For the music video. That we’re collaborating on.” Yuuri loses the battle as soon as he chokes out the sentence, breaking into bright peals of laughter.

“Yuuuuuri, you’re so mean,” Victor whines, “I was doing a bit!”

“And you did it. Doesn’t mean that it worked.”

“How about now? Did it work now?” Victor pouts and flutters his eyelashes. Phichit snickers into the palm of his hand.

“No,” Yuuri says, but he’s smiling, “you’ll just have to try harder.”

Victor swivels towards Phichit and shoots him his best pleading look, “help me, Phichit. You’re my only hope.”

“Okay, Victor. Listen closely,” Victor leans in and Phichit shoots Yuuri a smirk before fake whispering, “start a blackmail folder.”

“You and I are officially over. I’m taking your name off the lease.”

Lease? Victor frowns. But before he can ask any (hopefully) subtle leading questions, Chris slides up behind Yuuri, slings an arm around his waist, and grabs his ass.

(Victor scowls internally—too many dicks on the dance floor.)

“Yuuri, it’s been too long.”

“You came over for dinner last week,” Yuuri’s cheeks are flushed a delicious shade of red, but he pries Chris’ hand away from his butt and drops it like a dirty tissue.

“And I wasn’t invited?” Victor is furious. Chris is the worst friend. “You’ll have to make it up to me, Yuuri. Oh I know, we can go out for coffee again—get to know each other better before our date tonight!”

Yuuri opens his mouth but Victor plows on, “maybe you won't cry this time. I’ve heard mocha's taste better without the tears,” Victor begins to chuckle at his own joke—he’s sure that he’s framed it  _just right_ for his audience; but the laugh dies a cruel death—it tumbles off the cliff of his lips into the deep ravine below once he spies the shocked, bloodless pall of Yuuri’s face.

“Excuse me,” Yuuri says, before pulling Phichit away by the hand. Phichit shoots him the clearest “really?” look he’s ever seen. Victor can’t blame him.

Chris whistles and sidles put to Victor’s side, “you’ve truly outdone yourself.”

“Shut up.”

“No really, I’m almost impressed! Setting new social faux-pas records left and right. A real visionary. You should talk to Lilia about a book deal,” Chris grabs a plate and piles it high with pretzels.

“This friendship is over. I’m taking back your matching best friend flask.”

“Pity. I guess I’ll just have to comfort myself with the voice recording of this conversation,” Chris waves his phone in front of Victor’s face triumphantly.

“You’re the worst,” Victor groans.

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s you. Who makes fun of their crush for crying? Over their sick dog? And right before a date too.”

“It was a joke! I thought we could laugh about it!” Victor crushes a mini-quiche into dust. It’s mildly satisfying.

“Ever heard the phrase ‘too soon?’”

“I hate you so much.”  
   
“Not anymore than you hate yourself right now.”  
   
“That’s what you’d like to think,” Victor mutters.  
   
“Well, if that’s how it is, I guess I won’t help you with Yuuri…” Chris trails off, sliding away from Victors side to begin the slowest march Victor’s ever seen. Victor can practically _hear_ Chris counting down in his head.

(Victor know's when he's beat.)

He trips over his own feet scrambling to Chris’ side, “fine you can keep your flask.”

“It’s a start.”

Victor wonders if they sell brain-to-mouth filters in _SkyMall_.

(“You’d be better off with Amazon,” Chris laughs.)

__________________________

 

“Wow, he’s an idiot,” Yuuri sighs, as he pulls Phichit towards his trailer—his actual trailer this time, not Victor's.

“I told you, you have nothing to worry about, Yuuri.”

And for once, Yuuri’s starting to believe it.

Then he has An Idea.

“Phichit is there a bookstore nearby?”

Phichit looks up from monitoring _#victuuri_ on his phone, “there’s one about a mile away, why?”

Yuuri tells him.

Phichit beams, “Yuuri, that’s savage. I’ve never been so proud.”

__________________________

  
After Chris hands him a detailed list of things _not_ to do on a first date, fake or not—

(“I swear Vitya, my hand cramped up around the end of page two and i’m positive I developed arthritis after page six. I’ve never felt such a kinship with Yurio before today.”)

—Victor slinks back to his trailer.

The only purpose of his visit is to grab his car keys, but the train jumps the track as soon as he spies a slim paperback on his desk— _Bartleby the Scrivener: A Story of Wallstreet_. As he thumbs through the pages—wow that’s a lot of blue pen—a note falls onto the floor.

Victor bends down, picks up the note, reads it, and grins.

_Coffee and tears?_

_“I would prefer not to”_

_See you tonight. Bring a muzzle._

_-Yuuri_

_P.S. Silence is golden ;)_

Victor flicks through the book and notices a theme to the annotations—every instance of Bartleby’s famous refrain (“I would prefer not to”) is underlined— and there’s a little heart drawn next to the last one.

(Victor’s physical heart skips a literal beat.)

(Yuuri’s dragging him. That’s a good sign—after all, it’s ninety percent of his friendship with Chris. He’s never been so happy to be insulted.)

(He can’t wait to throw this in Chris’ smug face.)

__________________________

   
**_i-am-erosed_**

_this is not a drill 2.0: the victuuring_

red alert red alert. hear ye hear ye all victuuri katsukiforov fans. we have NEWS OF THE HIGHEST ORDER. our boys, victor “#iconic by age sixteen” nikiforov and katuski “too bootylicious for you babe” yuuri ARE CONFIRMED GUESTS at the premier of mila babicheva’s film, _tales of a sleeping prince_.

IT’S A COUPLE DEBUT Y’ALL. bring your popcorn, tissues, favorite twitter client, and maybe a cat for Reasons. get ready to live your best life. victuuri is real. i’m pretty sure they’ll restore the polar ice caps, solve world hunger, and singlehandedly make print media relevant again.

i. am. living.

(i hear the movie’s pretty good too)

_**92,397 notes** _

_#victuuri #katsukiforov #pluto is now a planet #debut-sy #I AM LIVING #brb crying #tales of a sleeping prince #mila babicheva #katsuki yuuri #victor nikiforov #instantly iconic #hello i’d like to talk to you about our lord and savior katsuki yuuri #thats some wild gravy #how many tags can i use #all the tags_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +VICTOR YOU ARE LITERALLY TWEETING TO YOURSELF ABOUT YOURSELF
> 
> +fakedatingfakedatingfakedating
> 
> +let's see how many times i can mention Heelies in this fic
> 
> +on that note, why are Heelies so innately hilarious to me?
> 
> +did i actually make a herman melville reference in a fanfic about gay ice skaters....yes. yes i did. (also an archer reference because I LOVE THAT SHOW.) shoutout to [dommi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific) . she knows why. 
> 
> +working links idea from the amazing [Fanboy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8889511/chapters/20375701) by arkhamcycle. if you haven't read it, DO IT NOW. 
> 
> +thank you to [meg](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalChords/pseuds/FullmetalChords) for acting as my test audience for this chapter! Also her theif AU is great you should read it. srsly. i'll wait. 
> 
> +next chapter is blocked out scene by scene. which means...not that much? because there are at least three scenes in here that weren't in my outline ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> +not gonna lie, this chapter was tough to write. for...reasons. but it was either post it now or agonize forever so here you go. 
> 
> +i'm here on [tumblr](http://katsukiyuuristrophyhusband.tumblr.com)
> 
>  **up next in chapter 3:**  
>  christopher robin: do you need some water Vitya?  
> victo-hurr-durr: I'm literally drinking water right next to you? why are we texting?  
> christopher robin: half a liter is not enough to quench you LEGENDARY thirst  
> [christopher robin changed victo-hurr-durr's name to thristyforov]  
> thirstyforov: he's just so beautiful  
> thirstyforov: and i'm so gay
> 
> up next for this girl: airport canon divergent fic, chapter 3, and probably (eventually) bar au.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
